


Finishing Lessons

by Seakays



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pure blood Hermione Trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27751042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seakays/pseuds/Seakays
Summary: When Hermione Granger finds out she is the illegitimate pureblood daughter of two members of the Sacred Twenty Eight, she needs a tutor to help her navigate the old customs and expectations thrust upon her.Enter Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 20
Kudos: 53
Collections: DFW Tropes Fest: Double Trouble





	Finishing Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Dramione fanfiction Writers group for this fun fest, and blessing me with a second spin of the trope wheel!!
> 
> Thank you to my amazing alpha/beta, RDLentz8 for her continued support and for always laughing as she constantly corrects my commas.
> 
> Many thanks to Lumos Lyra for the beautiful cover pages. She is insanely talented 
> 
> I own nothing of Harry Potter, or any of the characters, plot, or storylines created by JK Rowling !

_ 2:00 pm - Floral Art and Decor  _

_ 3:30 pm - Table Setting and Decoration  _

_ 4:30 pm - Deportment and Poise _

Hermione groaned audibly as she scowled at the tastefully decorated parchment that dictated how she was going to spend the next four hours of her life. 

Taking a long sip of the exquisite Jasmine tea nestled in blue Wedgewood, Hermione thought back to how she found herself, at twenty-eight years old, sitting through weeks of what could only be termed as Pureblood Finishing School.

She supposed most of the blame could be laid at the well-shod feet of Theodore Ignatius Nott, her wonderfully manipulative newly found brother. Well, technically her half-brother, not that he had let that detail stop his campaign to make her head of the Nott Estate, and control their seat in the Wizengamot.

This spectacularly unprecedented turn of events all began well before Hermione was even born. Euphastes Nott, her and Theo’s father, had no compunctions about fidelity, and his frequent liaisons were usually with witches half his age. 

Close to thirty years ago, Euphastes had a year-long affair with eighteen-year old Constance Fawley, the shy youngest daughter of Antoinette and Lawrence. When she fell pregnant, the scandal was immediately covered up, with the Nott estate paying the quiet, unassuming, yet terribly poor Fawleys a substantial sum for their silence and discretion.

Constance had been hidden behind spells and enchantments for the course of her pregnancy, and when she delivered a healthy baby girl, the Fawleys brought the child to a Muggle hospital, where she was subsequently adopted by Janet and William Granger. 

Euphastes never gave Constance or the baby another thought, as six months later, his sickly cowed wife had given birth to his son, and heir, Theodore. 

Tragically, the Fawley family never got to enjoy their sudden wealth for long. A rusting rail switch derailed the train they had all been travelling on in Switzerland, wiping out the entire Fawley clan. Their deaths were quick, and while the Fawley name remained as a member of the sacred 28, with no rightful heir, their influence faded quickly into obscurity. 

When Euphastes died in Azkaban six months ago, it was assumed that the Estate and the power it wielded would be inherited by Theo, who was the current potions master at Hogwarts. 

Theo and Hermione had become fast friends when he had started dating Harry, leading him to turn to Hermione for help as he felt woefully ill-equipped for a life in pureblood politics. When he had invited her over to Nott manor for a brainstorming session all hell had literally broken loose.

The wards of the manor had instantly recognized Hermione as a Nott, and in a horribly surreal moment, all twenty-six of the Nott house elves appeared before Hermione, throwing themselves prostrate at her feet, pledging their allegiance to Mistress Nott. 

  
  


Weeks of research and legal wrangling had made it clear that Hermione Granger Fawley Nott was the sole heir of the Fawley estate and seat in government. What was less clear was her right to the Nott estate. Being illegitimate, she had no real claim to the Estate, without the express consent of the legitimate heir. 

Quiet, bookish Theo had fallen over himself in his haste to express his consent, and so six months after the death of Nott Senior, Hermione found herself in control of two seats on the Wizengamot, and a quite considerable number of galleons. 

The news that the Wizarding world’s most famous Muggleborn was actually “purer” than ninety-eight percent of the Sacred 28, sent shockwaves through the posh elite. 

While most of the Wizarding families had changed with the times in the past decade, there were still some that held tightly to the old ways, making real change distressingly slow and arduous. 

Having Hermione holding two votes, the balance of power in the Wizengamot would swing to the younger generation. But Hermione didn’t want to simply wrest power from the old guard, she wanted to persuade and convince them about the validity of their motions and ideas, and so in a fit of insanity, she had agreed to take a few standard pureblood classes to earn their respect and gain their trust. 

  
  


About a week into the classes, Hermione knew she was in way over her head, and when a flower arranging assignment had resulted in a copious amount of tears, a dozen stray hexes, and the death of sixteen lilies, Theo had called in reinforcements. 

  
  


Those reinforcements had arrived in the elegant form of Narcissa Black Malfoy, and over the past few weeks, the two had formed somewhat of a begrudging friendship. Hermione knew Narcissa had been incredibly lonely since Lucius’s death two years prior, and her son’s seemingly voluntary exile to Italy. 

  
  


As Hermione put aside her tea, she walked into her least favourite class, and instead of Estella Margeaux, the usual teacher, she was greeted with the sight of a wizard she hadn’t seen in almost eight years. Nearly a decade in Italy had certainly agreed with him, for there was little trace of the painfully thin boy she once knew. Draco Malfoy had grown up, and if the titters of the debutantes around her, and her own dropped jaw were to be believed, he had grown up well. Very, very well indeed. 

******************************************

“Miss Strand, your viburnum should never be beside that hydrangea. It’s far too common. Perhaps the delphinium would be a better choice.” 

Hermione frowned at her table partner, Artemis Strand, who was by far the most skilled floral arranger in their class — a skill she seemed to have conveniently forgotten while fluttering her eyelashes at  _ Mr. Malfoy. _

Reluctantly she had to admit that Malfoy had grown into his looks, and when he rolled up his shirtsleeves, produced a pair of black-framed glasses, she was certain the collective IQ of the class had dropped at least ten points. 

So far, he hadn’t given her more than a cursory glance, but now that Artemis had conveniently drawn his attention, she had been left no direct avenue of escape. Glancing down at her sad centrepiece of red roses and a bit of jasmine, she stiffened waiting for the expected snide comments from her  _ teacher. _

“Perfect placement, Granger, but it’s just so boring. Roses are incredibly pedestrian _.  _ I see that your approach to everything remains tedious, dull, and completely lacking in any panache.”

Hermione bristled at his assessment and would have responded with just as much vitriol, but she noticed his eyes sweeping beyond her floral arrangement to her person. Instead of biting anger, Hermione was shocked to find her eyes welling with tears of embarrassment and hurt. While she had long ago come to terms with her appearance, having a ridiculously handsome man find her wanting upset her more than she was willing to admit. 

Ducking her head to ensure he didn’t see her tears, she squeaked out a response. 

“It’s Granger Fawley Nott now, Malfoy. But I am sure you already know that.” 

She heard rather than saw his snort. “I don’t care what the DNA says, Granger, you are no more than an old man’s futile mistake to prove his virility. As the Muggle saying goes, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

The venom with which Malfoy spoke stunned Hermione to the very core as she hadn’t had any interactions with him in years. He was notoriously media shy, and what very little she did know about him she had gleaned from her conversations with Narcissa. But even she was sparse with the details about his life. All Hermione knew was that he lived in Wizarding Naples, was unmarried, and ran the European arm of Malfoy Industries. 

By the time Hermione had recovered from her surprise to formulate any sort of response, he had tutted loudly and moved onto the next gorgeous, young debutante at the adjacent table.

Artemis, bless her soul, gave Hermione a brief squeeze on her shoulder, muttering something about rude and entitled men who, because the gods had blessed them with square jaws and washboard abs, felt they could say anything they pleased.

With the debutante’s pity sloshing around unpleasantly in her belly, Hermione gave what she hoped was a grateful smile in solidarity but was certain it had come off as vacant and fake. 

The rest of the classes proceeded without incident, but the interaction with Malfoy had left Hermione flustered and anxious. While she tried to tell herself he was just the same jealous git he had always been at Hogwarts, she couldn’t quite convince herself that his aim hadn’t been entirely on target. Every insecurity she ever had about her looks or her personality came rushing back as she glared at her own image in the hallway mirror in her flat. 

As she slid to the floor in front of the mirror, hard, hot tears came unbidden, as she heard the biting words of her past lovers’ echo in her ears.

_ Why do you have to be so controlling in everything? You emasculate men, Mione. _

__

_ You’re a real sculptor’s dream, all flat surfaces and no curves. _

__

Picking herself up off the floor, Hermione gathered her large grey cat, Sophie to her chest, and crawled into bed. Exhausted by her tears and cursing how one encounter with Draco Malfoy could ruin years of therapy, she fell into a ragged and restless sleep, preparing to do battle with the demons in her dreams.

******************

The next morning, Hermione woke with swollen eyes and blotchy skin, and as she cast some discreet cosmetic charms, she muttered under her breath, “I love magic.” 

Hermione was meeting Narcissa for tea in a little under an hour, and Hermione knew she needed every last second to perfect her hair, clothing, and makeup.  _ Teatime  _ in public was simply code for, “Let’s see if you can look like a pureblood?”

  
  


The hair and makeup charms were easy, but Hermione always struggled with the clothes. She was tall and very slender, and while Muggle clothes looked particularly good on her, wizarding robes tended to overpower her with their volume. Narcissa had found a new design house in Germany a few months back, and they had done wonders tailoring Hermione’s new wardrobe. After fussing for over thirty minutes, Hermione settled on a cream cashmere sweater, a pair of black tuxedo trousers, and topped with a black shawl collar robe with a deep red lining. 

As she slipped on her three-inch black pumps, Hermione thought back to Narcissa’s horror at her earlier insistence about wearing ballet flats all the time. 

“Embrace your height, my dear. Any wizard intimidated isn’t worth the salt in his skin.” So out went the flats, and in came a few pairs of the most brilliant heels, all by Muggle designers. When Hermione had expressed her surprise, Narcissa merely pulled back her long robes to show off her latest pair of Valentino jeweled sandals. 

“The man is a wizard with footwear, Miss Granger.” Narcissa had exclaimed with a smirk and a wink. 

Remembering the smirk forcibly reminded Hermione of Draco Malfoy, and how her first call upon waking had been to her wizarding therapist. No poncy, elitist git was ever going to get under her skin again. Taking one last long look in the mirror, Hermione knew she looked good.

“ _ Take that, Draco Malfoy. Tedious and dull, my non-existent ass.”  _

Landing with grace just outside of David’s Teas in Diagon Alley, Hermione took one look at Narcissa’s table and realized with horror she had brought a guest - a decidedly unwanted one - her one and only prodigal son. 

She only barely contained her shock when Draco rose at her approach and slid her chair out for her. She guessed years of pure blood training couldn’t be overcome simply by his disdain for her. 

Hermione mumbled, “Malfoy,”, and then turned to Narcissa, reaching for her hand, squeezing in greeting. 

“Acceptable. I would have preferred the charcoal skirt, higher heels, and more jewelry, but this is very acceptable for tea. Well done, Hermione.” Narcissa beamed at her, and just as she was going to express her thanks, Narcissa drew Draco into the conversation.

“Darling, what do you think of Miss Granger’s sartorial choices? Do they resonate with you as a wizard?”

Hermione gaped at Narcissa, wondering if she was ready to hear how terribly inadequate her darling boy would find her. 

But Malfoy surprised her yet again. Leaning back in his chair, he scanned her from head to toe.

“The hair is well done. Controlled enough for gravitas but letting the length show lets them know you are still a woman. Much better than that two buns look you had yesterday. The makeup is subtle and quite lovely for daytime, although I could make an argument for brown rather than black liner.”

While Hermione gaped at him, Draco took a small sip of his tea, ignored her and continued.

“The top is juvenile and boring, the pants are fine, but I agree with Mother, a skirt would have been more appropriate. The heels are exceptional - Jimmy Choo, I believe. The cloak is well structured, but scarlet red lining - a bit too on the nose for a woman pushing thirty. It’s been way too many years since you were required to show your house allegiance every single day.”

Stopping to scan her one more time, he concluded, “So to answer your question, Mother - Miss Granger is appointed appropriately for a woman of her station. A bit understated, but she would pass.”

Hermione watched as Narcissa practically clapped her hands in glee, and before she could stop herself, she blurted.

“Oh, sweet Merlin, you’re gay.” 

Draco merely arched an eyebrow at her. “Stereotype much, Granger? Are you implying that heterosexual men cannot have fashion sense?”

The nerve of the man to suggest she was judgmental snapped the choke chain she had on her control, and she hissed, “Well, I learned to make snap surface judgements from the best, didn’t I, Malfoy? Guess you were wrong about my mudblood status all along. Damn good thing I have your aunt’s artwork to remind me, isn’t it?”

“Hermione!” Her gasped name brought Hermione back, and she took in the avid looks from the other patrons and the fact that she had shoved up the sleeve of her sweater, exposing her cursed scar.

Yanking the sleeve back down quickly, Hermione turned to Narcissa, and quietly apologized for making a scene. 

Narcissa was gracious as always, “Think nothing of it, my dear. The reason why I’ve invited Draco is that he has agreed to take over your tutoring, until you are sworn into your seats in the Wizengamot.”

Holding up a hand to forestall any of Hermione’s objections, Narcissa continued, “There are certain things that only a man can assist you with, and I can think of no one better than my son now that he is returning to England to assume the Malfoy seat. With your combined influence, you could make real change in the Wizarding government.”

Hermione remained silent as she considered everything Narcissa said. Before she could voice any of her many, many concerns about this plan, Narcissa spoke again.

“Draco, darling, you never answered my question. Does Hermione resonate with you as a wizard, as a man?” 

Against her own volition, Hermione leaned forward, raised an eyebrow, and stared Draco Malfoy right in the eyes, daring him to say what he really thought.

His answering stare was just as challenging, and he didn’t once glance at his mother when he spoke. 

“As a wizard, I find Granger’s magical and political power compelling and intriguing. As a man — well — while she is passably pretty, I prefer my women a little less waif-like. Although I know of a few men who wouldn’t be immune to her charms.”

Wisely Narcissa Malfoy had cast a privacy charm on the table about five seconds before an irate Hermione Granger Fawley Nott slammed her hands on the table, and yelled,

“‘Passably pretty!! Passably pretty’ I’ll show you waif-like, you pigheaded chauvinistic arse.”

Narcissa looked at the two young people arguing so passionately and smiled to herself.

_ My work here is done. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
